


roses are sighing, a moonlight serenade

by bleakmidwinter



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: (on both ends), 1940s music, Alcohol, Canon Disabled Character, Dancing, Drinking, Fluff and Angst, Hermann Gottlieb - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Newton Geiszler - Freeform, Romance, Slow Dancing, Unrequited Love, idk what else to tag, impending kaiju attack, shoulder kiss, two gays in love dancing okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 08:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14690298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleakmidwinter/pseuds/bleakmidwinter
Summary: The Shatterdome is on a Code Red lock down because of a Category 3 Kaiju that is most likely going to demolish the base. Newton and Hermann await their last moments in the lab together, and Newton turns soft music on, and reaches out his hand to Hermann to distract them from their situation.





	roses are sighing, a moonlight serenade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingfindekano](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingfindekano/gifts).



> When Newton turns to the radio station he wants, I'd suggest you listen to this, as it was the inspiration for this fic: https://jeffreycombs.tumblr.com/post/170742216307/plvsmid-moonlight-serenade-playing-from // Happy Birthday Hannah, this is for you!

First it had been Code Yellow. Code Orange. And then, the muffled voices echoing from the overhead speakers throughout the shatterdome had irrevocably signed their death sentence. Code Red. Full Lockdown. 

 

There has been a breach, and a Kaiju is heading their way. Category 3. All the Jaegers in the base had dispatched elsewhere, because they had received the wrong signal telling them where the Kaiju is headed. They are already miles away. The Kaiju is headed straight for the Shatterdome, fast, and even if the Jaegers ran and demolished building by building in their ferocious wake, it is unlikely they would reach the dome in time to save it. 

 

Stacker had issued a call for everyone in the base to move down into the shelters, but anyone with at least half their brain working knows that those shelters are nothing but a concentration of cattle, like one hundred chicken strips lined up on a Kaiju’s dinner plate.

 

Newton refused the shelter, and is sitting alone in he and Hermann’s lab. It is probable he will never see Hermann again. When the announcement had sounded, Hermann hadn't been inside their lab, and he was probably on his way to the shelters now. A man of protocol, as always. Newt scoffs and takes a large swig from his beer bottle. The bastard abandoned him. And he hadn't even had the chance to tell him…

 

_ Fuck. _

 

Newton takes one more swig in an attempt to halt the tears threatening to pour over. He is about to be demolished by a Category 3 Kaiju and all he can fucking think about is  _ Hermann _ .

 

That damn old man and his stupid grandpa clothes. His weird, dorky, buzzcut. His Rs that trill so smoothly and beautifully. 

 

Newton grips the handle of his beer tightly and wonders if he should get drunk. Maybe he already is drunk. Just when he takes another large gulp, the handle to their entrance of their lab jiggles, and the door opens. A small man walks through, and when Newton registers who it is, his jaw goes slack.

 

Hermann doesn’t say a word. He seems frazzled, and dazed. He simply walks over to where Newton is sitting and plops down, inches away. Reticence fills their space, and somehow the atmosphere is unbearably deafening. 

 

Newton’s heart starts to pound and he hopes it's not too noticeable. His cheeks are already warm and pink, head feeling dizzy and hot from his inebriated state. There is so much  _ quiet _ and the tension is so thick Newton thinks he might just suffocate. Usually they have loads of things to talk about,  _ worlds _ to argue over. There are usually multiple methods they both use to avoid speaking of their feelings. Not now, now the world is ending, and they both have words they’ve been waiting to say for years hiding away on the tips of the tongues, like one would hang off the precipice of a mountain, threatening to spill over into the craggy stones of the ice water below. Hermann just sits beside him, breathing evenly, and he stares into the middle distance, refusing to look Newt’s way. 

 

Newton must look the fool, gawking at Hermann like some lovestruck idiot. But no, Hermann will never know that, not even on his dying breath will he admit it.

 

That fear of confession is greater than that of the impending Kaiju attack.

 

Newton had almost forgotten about the Kaiju until there is a small quake beneath them, signaling heavy footsteps in the distance. Newton can hear Hermann’s breath hitch sharply, and he barely notices the hand that juts out, and hits Newton’s side like a flapping bird. 

 

He takes Hermann’s hand in his own, and the mathematician’s grip is similar to a boa constrictor. Newton doesn't know if he is going to die of his rapidly beating heart, the Kaiju attack, or the loss of circulation in his right hand that Hermann is gripping, vice-like. 

 

Another quake, and another. The Kaiju is still far away, but it grows closer with every step. Newton is unconsciously rubbing his thumb in circles over the back of Hermann’s palm to calm him. Hermann makes a small, needy noise (almost like a hiccup), his propriety fading beneath Newt’s touch. Newt feels a surge of adoration for him, stronger than usual, and he wishes more than anything that somehow, someway, Hermann survives this, even if it happens without him. 

 

The quaking pauses for a while, as if the Kaiju is sniffing the air and biding its time. Newton sneaks a glance at Hermann, and sees Hermann’s face buried in his free arm, propped up against his knee. 

 

The man must be terrified. Newton doesn't know what to do to make it bearable, but christ, he wishes he could be that person for Hermann, to tell him it was going to be alright, and to make that sound believable. 

 

He has an idea, and it makes his heart thrum in his chest, and his stomach churn with a fierce trepidation that forces him to feel almost sick. But, there is no time like the present. 

 

Reluctantly, Newt drops Hermann’s hand. 

 

Hermann’s hand falls limp against the floor, and his face is incredulous, like he doesn't believe Newton just did that. His arm retracts back towards his body like a measuring tape. His face is droopy, laugh lines non-existent except for where his thin mouth begins to twist down diffidently. 

 

Newton stands, and strolls over to the desk behind them, fumbling around with the old radio he has on his desk. He likes retro things, there is nothing wrong with that.

 

He flips through stations of news, foreign folk music, and static until he lands on a station of soft, old-timey music that can make anyone want to sway and fall in love with the tones and measures of it.

 

A Moonlight Serenade.

 

Newton gulps, and turns, not having spoken a word to Hermann yet, and he walks up to his lab partner’s feet, nudges him with a shoe.

 

Hermann looks up from resting his head on his forearm, red eyes wet and blinking. Newton feels his heart strain, praying that he isn’t the source of these tears, and he reaches out a hand, watching the confusion start to develop on Hermann’s features.

 

Hermann glances over at the radio as if he had just now noticed the music, and he turns back to Newton’s hand, staring at it like it’s the next wonder of the world. 

 

Newton pushes his hand forward a little more, as a gentle gesture.

 

He wants Hermann to feel safe, and he wants him to forget the world for one shining moment. Sourly, he’s about to pull back, when he feels long, trembling fingers against his palm.

 

Newton grips him instantly, and hauls him up to his feet, cautiously aware of his hip. He leads him out to the middle of the lab where there is an abundance of empty space. 

 

He doesn't drop Hermann’s hand when he leans in to whisper, “We'll go slow,” as a reference to Hermann’s bum leg.

 

Hermann’s eyelashes flutter in a beautiful, angelic way, and Newton drowns the urge to kiss him. “Newton, I don’t--”

 

Hermann swallows, cutting himself off, when Newton wraps one arm around his waist, inadvertently pulling him closer in the process. “--I don’t know  _ how _ ,” he finishes with a stutter. Newton moves Hermann’s right hand to his neck and shoulder, and the hand he’s still holding he uses to drag him ever closer, and with a firm grip on Hermann’s hip, he sways them a little bit.   
  
“You don’t have to, just let me move for the both of us,” Newton responds softly, voice as quiet and as tender as it’s ever been. He hums and moves them in circles. Hermann is just  _ so _ good in this moment; Newton might just shatter to pieces. If he were to die today, he thinks that might be alright. Hermann is leaning in and hooking his chin over Newton’s shoulder to hide his face, and his soft cheek is pressing up delicately against Newton’s stubble. 

 

It’s perfect.

 

Newton moves them languidly, careening to the legato beat of the music. It’s a familiar song, almost like one he’d hear in one of those old 40s movies with a woman singing in a shining dress, gold or silver, catching the eye of the soldiers, or men there to drink and dine. Except there is no voice, just the instrumental, and it’s so calming that they almost don’t notice the Kaiju steps thundering outside, growing closer and closer, starting and stopping in erratic patterns. 

 

Newton tilts his head just slightly to take in the scent of Hermann’s hair, just recently washed, and so silky. He wishes both of his hands weren’t occupied below his waist so he could reach up and run his fingers through it. He’s not sure Hermann would allow that.

 

But, he’s allowing  _ this _ . 

 

It hadn’t hit Newt until this moment that he had reached out his hand in an offer to dance, and Hermann had taken it with little to no hesitation; he had trusted Newt into leading them together, in their final moments of conscious life. 

 

He doesn’t realize he’s pressing his fingers too hard into Hermann’s hip until he hears a soft, yet strained, gasp in his ear. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, opting to tug Hermann closer, wrapping his arm further around his slim waist.

 

Hermann’s chest is against his now, and their knees are bumping into each other, but they’re moving so slowly that neither one is irritated enough to stop. Hermann’s hand resting on is shoulder finds his hair, and his fingertips dance against the soft fuzz at the nape of his neck. Newton shivers and desperately presses his face into the space above Hermann’s collarbone, taking him in, in his entirety. He could suffocate in all things Hermann, his math, his haircut, his love of art house films, his obsession with oranges. His smell of fresh roses, god that smell is enough to drive a man mad. Newton feels insignificant in the hands of someone whom he values in the same way a pious man would value his chosen deity. He wishes he could tell him he loves him. 

 

He hopes Hermann will say it. He hopes Hermann feels the same. 

 

They keep swaying.

 

There is something romantic and startlingly intimate about it, which connects both their souls, and he feels Hermann’s grip tighten, and his nose press into Newton’s neck. 

 

_ I want to marry this man. _

 

Newton’s heart feels like it’s falling from his chest when he presses his lips onto Hermann’s shoulder, discreetly. _ Don’t hate me, Hermann. Please don’t run away. _ It was a desire that needed to be sated. Otherwise, he’s sure he would have died on the spot. The somber tone of the music playing doesn’t help his lonesome heart that is aching to be mended by the man currently in his embrace. Newt swallows about a thousand words he wants to whisper into Hermann’s ear.  _ Hold me tighter. Kiss me. Tell me you love me. Take me back to your room. Please don’t ever leave me.  _

 

He is going to pull back and look Hermann in the eyes, he is going to see if he felt it, the kiss on his shoulder, feather light, yet monumentally transformative. 

 

One particularly, and unexpected, reverberating quake almost knocks them over, and they topple forward, breaking each other’s fall. Newton’s mind goes blank for a moment, and when he glances up, he is nose to nose with Hermann. Just one move and they’d be kissing. 

 

How wonderful Hermann’s soft lips would feel on his own right now. The bubbly feeling in his head from the few beers he’s had makes him feel faint, and he gently leans in. His whole body is buzzing, and Hermann isn’t moving; he’s so close to what he’s wanted for years--

 

The music stops, suddenly, and it’s as if reality slaps them both in the face. The facade of tranquility wilts like a flower in winter. Hermann’s pupils are blown wide, Newt only just noticed, but he pulls away first, seemingly paralyzed with something Newton can’t read. He pulls his suit jacket down to straighten it, with a shaky outward sigh, and waddles over to his desk.

 

Newton’s fingers twitch at his sides, yearning to be back in Hermann’s benign embrace, to be intoxicated in the affection he knows must be real. They were kindred souls of a sort, and though Newton doesn’t believe in a higher meaning, or fate for that matter, he knows that whatever he and Hermann have is a fundamental aspect of their shared equanimity. 

 

If they are to die today, damn it, they should be together intimately, they way they are meant to be. 

 

When he can control the movement of his eyes and muscles again, the overhead speaker sounds with a shrill squeak before it continues. “We are off Red Alert. Category 3 Kaiju has been maneuvered in a separate direction. We are safe. Lockdown has officially ceased.”

 

_ Oh god. _

 

Newton’s knees turn to jelly, and he falls, palms down on the grated floor. He feels the sharp scrape of the rough metal beneath his knees and fingertips. Hermann rushes over then, and asks him if he’s okay multiple times, haphazardly tugging at his sleeves. Newton nods, and allows himself to be hauled up back onto two feet.

 

They aren’t going to die today. He isn’t happy, or relieved. But he’s not bitter either. He can’t quite pinpoint the feelings that are swashing around inside his stomach; it’s some form of disquieted melancholy. He barely registers Hermann’s hands still clutching at his sleeves. “I’m going back to my quarters,” he whispers as if it’s a secret. “I need to rest.”

 

It takes Newton a minute to muster a nod. “I getchu. Rest up, dude. I’ll see you tomorrow.” His voice sounds awful, like a shrieking cat that’s about to fade away into roadkill. He’s been avoiding eye contact with Hermann, but when Hermann’s hand reluctantly falls from his sleeve, and he’s standing there almost expectantly, he looks to see something uncommonly desperate in his gaze.

 

Newton wants to tell him,  _ I can’t make a move unless you tell me what you want, Herms. Stop looking at me like that. God fucking damn it.  _

 

It was as if Hermann had given him an invitation, and he wishes he could nod and follow him without the necessary communication. If they could just go back to his room and hold each other in a silent victory for staying alive this once, but that’s not how things go between them, they never go that way, and Newton is terrified they never will.

 

Especially not after this.

 

Hermann lips twitch into a fraudulent smile, clearly broken, and he walks back to his desk for his cane before heading for the doors to the lab. He pauses only once, hand on the door handle, before opening it, and slamming the door shut behind him. For once, Newton feels entirely estranged from Hermann’s comfort and sentiments. 

 

Newton goes back to his desk and finds himself clutching at the edges, knees giving out yet again, and he ends up on the floor, feeling the rejected hole inside him grow larger, and an acute distress eating at his insides more so than he had felt before Hermann had walked through those ancient doors to be with him at their life’s end.

 

With one lazy movement, Newton reaches for his bottle. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed me and Hannah's vision, and Hannah I hope you have a marvelous birthday and many more to come. Newton Geiszler and Hermann Gottlieb will forever be in love, so you can relish in their comforting gay vibes. Love you! - Ella


End file.
